


Almost Like (American) Gods

by Elefwin



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5137214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elefwin/pseuds/Elefwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is a wizard, to be sure, and on the eve of Day V, in the States, it sucks to be one. [with hints of merlihad]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Like (American) Gods

Merlin walks in the sky above a small church in Kentucky, USA. From above the church looks... tidy. Clean. Valentine and his people are already gone, the police and FBI aren’t there yet, the party starts tomorrow – they’ve got time. Good gracious, they’ve got all the time in the world.

Merlin descends from heavens, kneels in warm American dust, and feels dizzy. It was easier in Argentina flooded with cold light, it was much more simple in Africa, it was closer in Middle East... And then there’s always London where nothing is easy or simple. Merlin knows his own limitations all too well.

He kneels and gently pulls ruined glasses off of Galahad’s ruined face. Warm American sky shatters in a mess of smart glass, plastic, and gossamer-thin wiring. Even so – Merlin taps the frame, cuts transmission off. What is magic if not science so complex and refined as to be almost beyond our grasp? Almost. Merlin considers Valentine’s theory: correct at the core, but too simplistic for the wonders and terrors of mankind. In practice, though...

Galahad stares up at him, unblinking, looking somehow younger and very tired, and blood thickens in a wet halo around Galahad’s head. Merlin touches his face – sharp cracks spilling stuff more intricate and delicate than anything a Kingsman ever wrought, – feels a stab and a pull, is struck by a vision of a blade thrust into stone, again and again, waiting... His fingers tremble as he forces himself to close those patient eyes. His fingers slip into the cooling blood, paint a seal on Galahad’s forehead and another across his lips – steady now, – linger... And then all the time in the world starts running out.

The truth, the bare truth stripped even of expletives is, you do not _play_ god.

Merlin turns away from the screen, now blank, presses blood stained fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

Do not wake up, guys.

Not just yet.


End file.
